


Box of Delights

by glinda4thegood



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-06
Updated: 2011-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-15 14:51:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/161910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glinda4thegood/pseuds/glinda4thegood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Second in the Singer/Mills Mystery Series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Box of Delights

_**FIC Supernatural: Box of Delights**_  
Title: **Box of Delights**  
Author: **Glinda**  
Rating: **R**  
Pairing: Bobby Singer/Jodie Mills  
Sequel to: [Weekend at Bobby's 2](http://glinda4thegood.livejournal.com/15477.html)  
Summary: Probably works as a standalone. Second in the Singer/Mills Mystery Series.

 _Author's note_  
When I first started looking at real world Sioux Falls as research for a Bobby/Jodie series, it was quickly apparent that Supernatural's Sioux Falls was a very different place. For purposes of the Mysteries, I found it easier to go with the vibe from the series, and create a Sioux Falls that, while not Mayberry-sized, had diverged from the RW in the past, and was much smaller, less urban. Comments and suggestions on this dilemma are welcome.

  
~ ~ ~

  
"I'm not going to tell you what to do, Bill. You already know what you have to do."

Sheriff Jodie Mills watched the nurse dress the raw abrasion that covered the left side of Bill Sandy's face, forehead to chin. "What was it this time?"

"Forgot to take out the garbage."

Bill was a big man, solid and a little slow. But sound, Jodie thought with suppressed anger. All the times that harridan Rita Sandy had punched and gouged and raked at him with various objects, Bill had never responded in kind.

"How much longer do you want Rachel to watch her beating on you?" The question lay at the heart of the matter. It was fortunate for Rita Sandy that her bursts of violence had never touched the child, Jodie thought. She wasn't sure Bill would have remained passive, and he was a strong sucker.

"But if I leave and get an order, I leave Rachel." Misery etched deep lines around his mouth.

"Talk to a lawyer. I can give you a couple of names." This wasn't the first time she had made the offer. This time Bill appeared to be listening. "Make a complaint for assault, I can bring her in."

"No. Thanks Jodie." Bill touched his jaw and winced. "I'll take the lawyers' names, though. And get a ppo."

"It's a start."

One of the young doctors stopped Jodie on her way out of the hospital. "Sheriff?"

"Yes." She looked at his name tag. "Doctor Flick?" He had an appealing, nerdy appearance.

"I had the nurse call you about Bill. I let him talk me out of it last time he came in, and I regret it now." Small wire-rim glasses gave him an owlish, earnest look.

"Don't make a habit of it," Jodie said. "People who get beat up enough to land in here may be an indication of bigger problems in the community."

"Sorry again. I understand," he said. "Have you found anything new on Deputy Hank's disappearance? And the Mayor, of course . . ."

"Nothing new." Jodie nodded and stepped past him. "Thank you for asking."

People did ask. Not many, but enough. Jodie found herself forgetting to act as if the disappearance of Deputy Hank, Mayor Bob and the Rands was still under investigation. Those files had been cold, and complete, the moment she filed them, two weeks ago.

It seemed a short time for so much to change. Jodie had read about fictional towns where people routinely overlooked and ignored the weird. She had begun to wonder if the condition wasn't epidemic in her own community. Two weeks ago, in one long weekend, people died and the only person she could think of to go to had been Bobby Singer. He gave her the advice and help she needed to track and dispatch a citizen-eating succubus.

Bobby was an unlikely hero. Jodie remembered years of hauling him off the street after Karen Singer's death. Expression of her own grief following the loss of a child and spouse was quiet, personal. Bobby's had been large and public.

Two weeks ago, the suggestion she might have sex with Bobby Singer on the floor in front of his door would have seemed on the outer reaches of insane possibility. Today it only seemed like she had waited too long to repeat the experience.

Jodie turned the cruiser toward the old business district. It was a busy Saturday afternoon; citizens waved or slowed down when they saw the cruiser. Jodie glanced at the flyer next to her on the seat. Hanna Brown's sticky note was brief, to the point: _Jodie, let me know if they are on the level._

Just looking at the note made Jodie feel guilty.The last time she had dropped in to see Hanna was before Owen's death. Hanna was, what -- nearly 90 now? When Owen was little Jodie had walked him past her house every weekend, usually stopping for a cup of tea and little cookies Hanna baked by the truckload.

Jodie studied the storefront as she pulled to the curb. Big improvement here. An ancient dime store with soaped windows had anchored this corner for the last ten years. Now fresh canvas awnings, shining windows and a fancy gilded door proclaimed new life and interesting shopping adventures. Jodie checked the address on the flyer against the numbers on the door.

 _Tia Maxwell's Box of Delights._

It was the same place. A sign that looked to be engraved with copperplate lettering echoed the genteel message on the flyer Hanna had sent to the station. _We buy and sell estate items._

A single chime rang as she opened the door to the shop. Expecting a certain level of antique must and clutter, Jodie found a spacious, gleaming expanse of oak flooring that smelled of citrus. A few long glass display cases on the floor and against the wall, a few pieces of beautiful furniture and three ornate silver steamer trunks were the only focal points in the spacious room. A rustle of beaded curtain from the back of the store drew Jodie's eyes away from a carved wooden chair.

"Welcome to Tia's. May I assist you?"

She was a tiny thing, very old Jodie guessed. Her skin was polished dark, like aged wood. Her voice held an accent and foreign cadence. Indian? Jodie smiled into kohl-rimmed black eyes and tried to keep the envy from her face as she examined the raw silk fabric in the woman's tailored suit. The color drew Jodie, made her think of tropical ocean water on a sunny day.

"I'm Sheriff Mills. Let me welcome you to town, Ms. Maxwell?" she hesitated over the name.

"Most pleased to meet you. I am Tia." She inclined her head, an abbreviated bow. "This has always been a fine street."

It was an odd thing to say, Jodie reflected. Was Tia Maxwell a former resident? "Yes. There was a great dime store here when I was a kid." In fact the entire square block had been kid heaven. The bakery and Dibble's pharmacy and ice cream parlor had been in back and parallel to the five and dime. The bakery was long gone now. Dibble's had morphed into a tacky party store.

"I'm here because of this flyer." Jodie nodded her head back at the window. "It says you buy and sell estate items. You'll understand my interest. Some of our older citizens are a little gun shy about being taken by pickers."

"I do understand." Tia clasped her hands. "I give written valuations, and written offers for everything I purchase. If a client has questions or hesitations, I encourage securing a second opinion before the transaction is completed." She smiled, her teeth very white against her burnished garnet-colored lips. "I am a good businesswoman, Sheriff Mills. I seek only my customers' complete satisfaction."

Hanna Brown's home was less than two minutes drive from the storefront, in an old residential neighborhood with gingerbread houses, wide lawns, and picket fences. The house could use a coat of paint, but the fence was crisp and the flower beds were weeded. Jodie suspected the steadily declining supply of neighborhood children still found cookies and a few dollars at Hanna's house on a regular basis. Cats watched her from the windows as she approached the door, more cats than she remembered from the past. As Jodie rang the doorbell a hefty gray tom wound itself around her legs and bawled up at her.

"Hey boy." Jodie scratched his ears. "I remember you. Snuff, right?"

Snuff slitted his eyes and ground glass in his throat in response to the scratching.

"Jodie, dear." Hanna peered out, smiling misty welcome. "It's been too long."

The house was clean. That was a relief. Jodie had seen other old friends deteriorate suddenly. She helped Hanna prepare tea, then carried the tray back to the parlor. The kitchen was clean and tidy, even with a row of cat dishes next to the back door. There was food in the refrigerator, and fresh milk. Jodie felt a vast sense of apprehension evaporate as evidence of Hanna's continued competence added up.

"I visited the shop in the flyer." Jodie poured tea into Hanna's hand-painted cups. "First impression was good. The owner says she gives written appraisals and written offers." She sipped her tea and looked around casually. "Are you thinking of parting with some of your beautiful pieces?"

"Jodie Rafferty Mills. I'm not a senile old woman. Were you worried?" Two cats jumped onto the back of Hanna's chair and promptly went to sleep.

"I'm sorry I haven't been to see you." Jodie swallowed a lump in her throat with the tea.

"I know, dear. It was bad." Hanna reached forward and touched her hand. "I went to Owen's funeral. I know you didn't see me. It's all right. Forgive me for bringing it up, but I'm an old woman who thinks about death, every day. You live through nine decades, you get practical. I got my full amount of time, your boy didn't. It grieved me, Jodie." Hanna put her fingers to her mouth. "I'm witless. But your eyes look better now, more peaceful."

Jodie nodded. "So. Your furniture?"

"I have so many things. When I'm gone, I have to leave a bit for my girl in Witchita, and my cats." Hanna reached behind her and stroked a tabby. "I won't have animal control haul them away. Ashurbanipal and Snuff would die if they were put in a cage, even for a short time."

Ashurbanipal. Jodie remembered the enormous, tawny lion of a cat. "You still have that old boy?"

"He's out on a ramble, but I'm sure he'll be back any day." Hanna laughed ruefully. "He lost half his ear last time. Now tell me how you're going on. I heard you sold the house . . ."

  
"Lou Dunbar here." Bobby listened to the rapid spate of words at the other end of the phone line. What the hell was Rufus doing in Orange County? "You questioning the CDC? If he says it's contagious, grab a mask and a flamethrower, buddy, and do what he says." He replaced the receiver and returned to the desk.

Papers from the last two days lay front and center in the mess of journals and books. Bobby considered the page ten advertisement for the hundredth time. He lifted the brim of his hat, pushed it back on his head and took out his cell phone with a deep breath.

"Jodie. It's Bobby. Can you drop by?"

"Bobby?" She sounded cautious. "I'm headed back to the station. Is it important?"

"Could be." He shut his eyes and grimaced, feeling like a high school nerd setting up a tutor date with the head cheerleader. "Yeah. It's important."

"I'll be right there."

He replaced the receiver. "I was drugged," he muttered, fully realizing he was channeling Fox Mulder. Barely two weeks ago he and Jodie Mills, on the floor, in front of his door . . . neither of them one-hundred-percent capable of consensual adult activity. All hopped up on succubus pheromones. Not their choice, not their fault.

"Who are you trying to kid." Bobby grimaced again, disgusted at his attempt at denial. While not one-hundred-percent capable, he had been one-hundred-percent willing. And Jodie had picked up the slack in the capable department. She had called once to give him a briefing on the aftermath of that weekend. The "escape" of Rufus Turner, aka Luther Vandross, had passed with little furor, although the town was shaken by the disappearance of the Mayor and Deputy Hank.

He worked doggedly at a bit of translation while he waited. When the knock came he answered the door with outward composure, kept his eyes on her face, and, with an exercise of iron will, did not wonder what kind of underwear she might be wearing.

"Bobby." She gave him a nod, the faintest tinge of pink in her skin at odds with her usual cop face.

He jerked his head toward the library. "Come on in. I would have gone into town myself, but people notice me more now."

"Probably a good call." Jodie took the seat on the other side of the library desk. She studied the mess of books and papers. "What's up?"

Bobby pushed the newspaper toward her. "Read that. See anything -- unusual?"

Jodie scanned the page.

Page 10 of the _Argus Leader_ had seemed benign enough when Bobby first checked through the issue, looking for any hint of sign or omen; a story on a dinner theatre fundraiser, various notices for club meetings, ads for a Rotary film series at the school, and movies scheduled at the Orpheum.

Jodie closed her eyes, hands stilled against the newspaper.

"You get a little rush of vertigo?"

"Disorientation. Momentary," Jodie said. "Bobby. The Orpheum hasn't been in business for the last twenty years. And I had no idea they were making another Ghostbusters sequel."

"Don't know that they did," Bobby said. "What time are you off work tonight?"

"Sixish." Jodie grinned. "You going to ask me to go to a movie with you?"

"You know I am." He rolled his eyes. "Don't enjoy the idea too much. Being seen with the town's number one "unclean" citizen going to a non-functioning theatre playing a non-existent movie can't end well for you."

"Might end well for you, though." Her eyes laughed. "I'll quit teasing."

"You know --" He stopped, unsure of what he wanted to say to her.

"Let it be." Jodie flipped through the remainder of the newspaper, stopping at the classified section. "Take a look at this," her finger tapped against a small, boxed ad.

"Estate items bought and sold." Bobby read the simple ad, then read it again. "The address . . . this is the old Merchant's Five and Dime building."

"Also empty for the last fifteen years. I was there today. The female proprietor is one Tia Maxwell. She seems, on first read, to be an upstanding business person." Jodie hesitated, then shrugged. "The storefront looks great. I got the feeling there was a breath of new life coming to the whole street. That old business district has been slowly dying away."

"I hear a "but" coming," Bobby said.

"Does it occur to you that the place the succubus showed up, the business district that contains both the Orpheum and the old Merchant building, is all in the town's oldest settled area?" Jody straightened her shoulders and visibly controlled a shiver. "Speaking with Tia Maxwell, I got the lightning skin, Bobby. It was almost the same feeling I got the first time I saw Owen, after he came . . . then when I found Hank's empty uniform." She rubbed her fingers over the back of one hand. "It's like a quick surge of adrenalin and static electricity. It wasn't real strong, but it was there."

"You want me to drive in to town tonight?" Bobby saw her consider, shake her head.

"I'll pick you up around 6:30. People notice your car." Jody stood. "I know we still need to talk. I'm not putting it off on purpose."

  
Bobby knew what Jodie meant, about the lightning skin. He'd had the feeling too many times to count, that instinctive early-warning system against the weird that most people discounted, ignored. It was a comfort to find that she recognized it for what it was. Knowing what he knew, knowing the potential danger his knowledge might bring to unwary civilian acquaintances, Bobby had thought long and hard for the past weeks about an intimate relationship with Jodie Mills.

He still wasn't closer to reaching a conclusion on the question.

The afternoon passed quickly. Bobby surfed the area news, tickled all the search engines with odd word combinations, hoping to find an unexpected gold mine. The only mention of Ghostbusters 3 he could find was a comment that Bill Murray might be looking at a script. He knocked off the research at 5:00, took a long shower and trimmed his beard. Feeling like a damn fool he dressed in clean jeans. For a moment he held a flannel shirt, then replaced it on the clean laundry heap. He reached to the back of his closet for a chamois-colored shirt with leather elbow patches.

A gift from Pamela, back in the day. Bobby remembered how her eyes twinkled when she pulled it from under her Christmas tree. When he wore it the first time, self-conscious and secretly thinking he didn't look half bad in the thing, Pam grabbed him and kissed him with all her considerable strength. "That shirt is just you, Bobby Singer. My hayseed professor. You look dead sexy . . ."

God. He missed her. Missed them. Karen. Pamela. Ellen. Jo. The Life was no life for a woman. They all ended up sacrificial pawns in a game with no rules. Why would he even consider putting Jodie in harm's way?

Bobby looked at his reflection in the mirror. "Because it ain't your decision to make. And you'd be a moron to think letting her remain ignorant, or keeping your distance, will mean her safety in the long run."

Once he'd said it, out loud, it was as if a dark cloud lifted from his spirits.

He was waiting outside when she pulled up in her car. "Show starts at 7:30. Maybe we could drive around the neighborhood before?"

"Way ahead of you." She wore jeans and a simple yellow knit top that illumined her brown eyes with flecks of amber and gold. Her hair was loose, a dark froth that swept over her shoulders when she moved her head.

"You look --- good." Bobby cleared his throat.

"So do you." She gave him the sideways once-over, laughing. "Relax. Nice shirt. But I'd like to have more than one memory of you not wearing flannel."

A universe that would allow a mature man to blush was a cruel place, Bobby thought vengefully. "Present from a friend," he said.

They took a circular route in towards the neighborhood of the theatre, passing through the residential areas without remarking anything out of the ordinary. Jodie pulled her car to the curb across from the _Box of Delights._ The open sign still showed in the window.

"Want to go in?"

"You didn't see, or pick up any needful things on your first visit?" The store's exterior was too clean, too smartly detailed for Bobby's comfort zone.

"No. Lots of nice things, but nothing appealed to me." Jodie considered. "But I was working. I see things -- less personally, when I'm working."

Bobby opened the door for her, then stepped inside. He took a deep breath of citrus and oak. Lightning played over his skin, raising the hair on the back of his neck.

"Welcome to the Box of Delights." It wasn't the old woman Jodie had told him about, but an elderly Chinese man in embroidered costume. "May I be of assistance?"

"Just browsing," Bobby said. "You got any antique blades -- knives, swords?"

"Ah. We certainly do, but I am desolated to say our stock of these items remains in transit." He bowed his head. "Please feel free to browse. If you desire assistance at any time, there is a bell on the first display counter."

"Not creepy at all," Jodie said quietly, after the man withdrew through the back door. "Just mysterious, in a Fu Manchu kind of way."

The glass display cases contained beautiful pieces, jewelry, knick knacks, and artwork. "The real deal," Bobby said. "A notch above expensive. That shield bracelet," he pointed at a substantial piece of worked silver, "never seen anything like it."

The furniture was beautiful, if grotesque, with clawed arms and feet. Bobby kept his distance.

"What do you think of these?" Jodie stood by three upright trunks against the store's back wall.

Hefty pieces, Bobby thought. If it wasn't for the two trunks sitting open, he would have taken them for baby monoliths. The catches were hidden in the ornamentation. Patina on the metal clearly said silver, and that was worrisome. Silver receptacles -- big silver receptacles -- merited cautious appraisal. Bobby stepped close enough to study the decorations that flowed from edge to edge. They might have been symbols, although Bobby didn't recognize any individual sign. The stylized orb, broken by wavy rays, that dominated the front of each trunk looked vaguely Egyptian.

Jodie looked inside one of the open trunks. "Empty. Just space inside." She extended a hand toward the latches. "I wonder how . . . "

"Don't touch it." Bobby caught her hand. "Look, but don't ever touch unless you absolutely have to." He let her hand drop. "Let's go."

It was only three blocks to the Orpheum. The ticket booth, foyer and concession counter was exactly as Bobby remembered from his childhood. Only more so. Every bit of ornamented moulding, every deco light fixture looked brand, spanking new. Ticket prices were modern, though, as were prices on the popcorn.

The concession counter was doing a brisk trade. People passed, laughing, jostling. Bobby flipped open his phone and checked the time. It was only 7:10.

"How do you feel about popcorn?" The smell brought back a wave of nostalgia for long Saturday matinee afternoons. Bobby checked the case quickly. They had Snowcaps.

"Popcorn is okay, but I could really go for some of those Snowcaps."

Bobby bought a box of Snowcaps. He took a last, thorough look at the foyer. Mosaic tiled floor, swag tassels along the wainscotted walls, rich golden gleam of velvet rope that divided the entrance and exit lanes, all confirmed memory. "Thing is, do you really want to go into a dark theater and watch a movie that hasn't been produced in our reality? I'm a little concerned about what we might find when we come out again."

"You're not wrong." Jodie looked a question at him. "There's something else?"

"Yeah. Let's go to my place."

Daylight was fading, but far from gone, when they pulled into the salvage yard. Bobby opened the door for her, and locked it behind them. She looked around at the sound.

"Keeping out the riff raff." He took a step and let his hands rest on her waist. "If there's one thing I can't resist, it's a beautiful woman who likes Snowcaps."

She stepped into his chest, meeting his mouth full on. It was the most peculiar, yet satisfying sensation, the way she fit against his body. New, yet familiar. Exciting and comforting. It felt like he'd been kissing her for years.

Her hand crept up to remove his hat. "I take it we're still not going to talk."

Bobby moved his mouth to her eyes, feeling the flutter of soft lash against his lips. He slid his fingers down to her hips. "I've got something I'd like to show you in the library."

That brought a snort of derision. "I've often wondered why you have a bed in your library."

"Spend most of my time in there." Bobby kept his arm around her as they walked. He felt ten years younger, and horny as hell. "After the succubus we didn't bother with . . . "

"I had my tubes tied after Owen. There were reasons." Jodie tilted her face to meet his eyes fully. "You let me be your squeeze, Bobby Singer, you'll save a fortune on condoms."

He laughed, and it felt good. Her surface practicality, near coldness, hid a deeply funny, passionate woman's soul. "You got high hopes, girl."

"Not a girl." Jodie slid her hands down his thighs, found his zipper. "I'm a real honest-to-god woman with needs. Needs, Bobby."

Her hand moved. Bobby felt the focus of his world shift to thoughtless pleasure.

"So which would you rather have next to you in bed? A girl? Or a woman who knows her own needs?"

Bobby cupped her face in his hands. "Can't tell you how long I've waited for a question with an obvious answer. But if it's okay with you, I'd like to confirm with research . . ."

Sunrise was pink on the horizon when Jodie left the salvage yard. She caught sight of her face in the rear view mirror, and for a moment it was the face of a stranger. She glowed.

Jodie frowned. If she went in to work looking like _that_ she might as well wear a sandwich board reading _Brains relocated: well and truly fucked._

She shivered at the memories. Glancing down at her shirt she could see her nipples stand out like little road cones. She'd probably have to put band-aids on the things to keep them down.

Her morning routine got accelerated, but she took care that every hair, and her nipples, were in place and restrained. She grabbed a granola bar on her way out of the house, promising herself a good cup of coffee later. The station was quiet, although Davis, the night deputy, waited in her office.

"Davis. What is it?" Jodie sat down behind her desk and unwrapped the granola.

"Nothing major. It was a quiet night." Davis seemed to grope around for his next words. "One weird thing. There was a minor disturbance down by the Lutheran shelter." He stopped, groped some more. "They've got a vending machine outside that gives away free sandwiches. I've never seen anything like it. There was a small riot before one of the shelter guys called. I've got Hairy Houdini in the drunk tank. He was at the center of the rhubarb. He says the vending machine belongs to him. The Lutherans claim it doesn't belong to them." Davis shook his head. "Very weird."

Hairy Houdini was one of their regulars, arrested or retrieved so often they didn't bother with keeping track. He knew the ins and outs of evading the law better than any of their other clientele, but he liked hard liquor to excess. Jodie found the old man fast asleep in the drunk tank. He managed to snore and smile simultaneously. She unlocked the door.

"Hey, Houdini. Houdini, wake up."

He snorted and opened one eye. "Shirrif Mills. Always a plezzure."

"Deputy Davis just told me a story about you. You up to confirming or denying?" She could smell the vile acrid odor of a fresh pot of station coffee on the air. "Davis, bring Houdini a cup of coffee. Lots of cream and sugar."

"Allus treats me like a gennulman." Houdini sat up. A half-eaten sandwich tumbled from his ratty overcoat.

"Tell me about the sandwich machine." She waited until he took his first swallow of coffee before repeating the question. "The shelter has a free sandwich machine now?"

"Not them. 's mine." Houdini picked up the sandwich and dipped it into his coffee. "Found a new pet to watch m'stuff, needed to feed 'im." Houdini squinted up at her face, gathering a few more of his marbles into one pile. "He's big enough to make those thieving turds from the shelter think twice about touching m'stuff. Didn't think I could keep him, don't have enough to feed m'self. Kinda -- made a wish -- and there it was. Free sammich machine." Houdini beamed. "Gave him a bunch of tuna sammiches. He liked 'em."

Jodie felt her stomach drop. "You made a wish for a free sandwich machine, so you could feed a big . . . what kind of pet?"

"Kitty. Freaking big kitty," Houdini said, after a moment of what appeared to be painful cogitation. "Bigger than any of those thieving turds from the shelter."

"You mean a lion?" Jodie asked carefully.

"That's crazy talk." Houdini eyed her with suspicion. "Ain't no lions in South Dakota. He's just a freaking big kitty."

  
The sandwich machine was still there. A fairly orderly line of people, and not all of them homeless, waited to take advantage. Jodie went to the front of the line and watched neat rows of sandwiches move, then tumble down the shute. Ham and cheese. Tuna salad. Roast beef and swiss. Corned beef on rye. She watched for several minutes, then went into the shelter. The Lutherans were no help. Not only did they disclaim any knowledge or ownership of the machine, they pleaded with Jodie to have it taken away before another riot occurred.

Jodie reached for her phone, then reconsidered. She wouldn't call Bobby just yet.

Back at the station she cleaned up paperwork. When she finished, it occurred to her there had been no further mention of Bill Sandy's ppo. Jodie sat back and stared unseeing through the office glass. The Sandy's lived in one of the old neighborhoods behind Hanna's house, on the edge of what she had begun to think of as the rectangle of weird. Jodie finally let herself make the call.

"Bobby. You want to come into town?"

"You couldn't let me get a little more sleep?" He didn't sound tired. "What's going on?"

"I'm beginning to think we've been visited by the Make A Wish people," Jodie said. "You can add a vending machine that gives away free sandwiches, and a freaking big cat to the theatre puzzle."

"Not good. Wishes don't turn out well for people." Bobby's voice dropped. "How are you?"

"You really need more validation?" Jodie found herself grinning. "Get your butt in here. Meet you behind the theatre."

  
Jodie was in the cruiser, talking on the radio when he pulled up. She waved him over. "I've got two stops to make, then we'll see where we are."

"I uncovered a couple more things about the theatre this morning." Bobby sat so he could watch her profile. The muscles of his stomach tightened involuntarily. It had been so long, he'd forgotten what the first rush of a new relationship felt like.

"Thought you might sleep in this morning," she said, half a smile disturbing the equanimity of her professional expression. "You got up when I left?"

"No. Shortly before." He laughed at the roll of her eyes. "The Orpheum's current proprietor is grandson of the man who operated her when I was a kid. Last week he was working at Dibble's Party Supply and the Orpheum building was owned by an investment company. Today he owns the place outright, and I can't find any building permits on file to account for the restoration."

"This morning I talked to an old man who found a giant cat and wished for a free sandwich machine." Jodie turned down the Sandy's street. "What can you tell me about wishes?"

"Nothing good. John WInchester recorded a few cases that involved pretty horrific results from people making wishes. Sam and Dean have racked up mileage with a cursed rabbit's foot, djinni, and a cursed coin in a wishing well," Bobby said. "The most important word in all that being _cursed._ "

"There's no instance of good coming from wishes?"

"Not that I know. What's this stop for?" Bobby looked at the small, well-kept yard, and the dark-haired girl chalking on the sidewalk.

"That's Rachel Sandy. Her mother is a beater, her father is a beatee. Wait for me."

The girl looked up as Jodie came toward her, lighting with pleased excitement. She grabbed Jodie's hand and pulled her around, pointing out colorful artwork all the way to the house. Bobby could see her mouth never stopped moving.

His cell phone vibrated against his leg. Bobby checked the screen. Dean. "Yeah?"

"Hey. All that research we've done on Death. Can you pdf me?"

"Sure. You two don't plan to be back here anytime soon?" The thought of Sam and Dean walking into the house unexpectedly while he was naked with guest seemed all too likely a scenario.

"No. Why? You planning a party?"

He could hear the smirk in Dean's voice. "No smartass, I'm banging the sheriff."

"Good one, Bobby. Thanks."

The phone went back into his pocket. Bobby felt a smirk curl his own mouth. A motion from the house caught his eye. Jodie stood in the door, waving.

Inside the house was just as neat as the outside, plain but cared for.

"Bobby Singer, this is Bill and Rita Sandy, and their daughter Rachel." Jodie stood very straight, projecting Sheriff Mills in every nuance of her voice and posture.

"Pleased to meet you." He shook hands with Bill and nodded to Rita. "Nice sidewalk, Rachel."

She clapped her hands and looked away shyly.

"Bill was just telling me he applied at that new antique store for work as a handyman."

Jodie's attention was on Rita, Bobby noticed. The atmosphere in the house, between the man, woman, and child seemed amicable and steady, nothing like he'd seen in other situations where abuse existed.

"Nice place," Bobby said. "Did you get a job?"

"No." Regret was obvious in Bill's face and voice. "They had a sign in the window, and the little Indian lady talked to me for a long time. Then she said sorry, but the store would be closing up real soon." He frowned. "But they just opened. It don't make no sense."

"While you were talking to her, I don't suppose you said you wished for anything, Bill?" Jodie asked.

"Wish? Wished for something?" The question didn't quite connect with Bill's frame of reference.

"Me! Me! Me!" Rachel jumped up and down. "Docta Low asked me, and I wished!"

"You had Rachel with you?" Bobby went down on one knee and faced the girl. "Rachel, my name's Bobby. What did you do while your dad was talking to the old lady?"

"Docta Low showed me the big boxes and asked me what I thought was inside. I said prolly a gift." She clasped her hands and beamed. "He said right, a gift for my mom and dad if I wished for it. And I did!"

"What was in the box, Rachel?" Jodie asked.

"All my love. Show her," Rachel pointed at her parents. "I coulda made better, but they're not bad."

Bill and Rita Sandy looked at each other. Bill pulled a small disc from his jean pocket, Rita fished hers out of her cleavage. Jodie took one in each hand, then held them out so Bobby could see them.

A pair of stamped metal hearts, one that said _Mom_ , one that said _Dad_ on one side; on the other side of both, _xx oo always._

  
The canvas awnings were rolled up and the signs were missing from _The Box of Delights,_ but the door opened under Bobby's fingers.

Of the shop's previous furnishings, only the trunks remained.

"Hello?" Jodie walked toward the back of the shop. "Ms. Maxwell?"

"Hello my dear. I thought we might see you before we left. And you've brought Bobby Singer as well. How nice." Tia Maxwell's head poked out between strands of beaded curtain. "We're just having tea. Please join us."

The small back room had once been lined with shoeboxes when the five and dime was in business. Now it contained a round oak table and four chairs. The elderly Chinese man stopped in the act of pouring tea. He inclined his head gracefully.

"He hasn't met you here, Tia. You need to wait until you've been introduced," the small man chided. "I am Dr. Lao. Please, sit."

His skin was burning like crazy. Bobby didn't want to sit, but finally pulled a chair back from the table and sat on the edge on the seat. He firmly declined the tea, and was pleased to see that Jodie did the same. No way in hell was he going to drink anything in this place.

"I am investigating a series of unusual activities in the area." Jodie looked between the two of them. "The restoration of the Orpheum Theatre. A free sandwich machine at the shelter. Rachel Sandy's . . . gift . . . to her parents."

"And the cat," Tia said. "It's really the cat that's the problem."

"Live and learn," Dr. Lao said. "You think all the loopholes are stitched, then a thread unravels." He smiled, showing ivory-colored teeth with abnormally long canines. "People are really most inventive creatures."

"What about the cat?" Bobby growled. He wanted to get away from the pair of them before the static charge on his skin turned to something more serious.

"Hanna's cat," Jodie said. "Ashurbanipal."

"He passed, and she wanted him back," Tia said. "Not only that, but she wanted him to be with her as long as she remained on this plane. Simultaneously she wanted him to remain free, both while she was alive and after. That was her wish."

"Free, yet tethered. Always a problem, the freedom thing," Dr. Lao murmured. "Free choice, free will. Free lunch. You know what they say about that."

"These people didn't give you anything for the wishes? Like their souls?" Bobby felt as much as saw Jodie's look of sudden apprehension.

"What would I do with souls?" Tia sounded genuinely amazed. "You're a very cynical man, Bobby Singer. We brought three gifts to this place; they were delivered."

"But there are four wishes we know of," Jodie objected. "The free lunch machine. And Houdini said he saw a giant cat before his wish came true."

Tia and Dr. Lao shook their heads in unison.

"The cat that is not a cat, or completely a cat. It retains the essence of potential, the state in which it existed before Hanna Brown wished for a free creature, and opened her box," Dr. Lao said. "Because of this potential there is a probability of improbable things happening around it."

"So," Bobby said slowly, "as long as the cat is out there, we're going to see random wishes come true?"

Dr. Lao shrugged. "Very probably."

"Unacceptable." Jodie put her hands on her belt. "Either fix the cat or take it back."

"The wish was made. The cat is free," Tia said firmly.

"There is one thing they might do." Dr. Lao touched one long fingernail to Tia's arm. "The box of delights."

  
It was a silent ride to Hanna Brown's home. When they knocked at the front door, there was no answer.

Jodie tried the doorknob. "Hanna? It's Jodie Mills. Are you okay?"

"Come in, Jodie." The old woman's voice barely reached their ears. "Another visit so soon?"

The room was alive with cats. Bobby tried to avoid them all, but stepped on at least two tails as he followed in Jodie's wake. She rushed toward an armchair containing a frail woman. One side of Hanna Brown's face was slack when she looked up to greet them.

Jodie reached for her phone. "She needs an ambulance."

"Don't you dare." Hanna's voice seemed to strengthen. "You let me go with some dignity. It's time." She stretched out a shaking hand and a huge, tawny cat parted the ranks of lesser cats. He jumped into her lap, much of him spilling over. "Good boy. Ashurbanipal came home."

Bobby stooped and laid a hand on the big cat's head. Lightning touched his skin. "You know he's more than a cat, Hanna."

"Is this your new beau, Jodie?" Hanna's smile was lopsided but delighted. "Sexy mustache. You must enjoy that."

"Hanna!" Tears fell over Jodie's cheeks. "This is Bobby."

"Take good care of her, and let her take good care of you, Bobby. I know he's more than a cat, but then, all cats are more than they seem." Hanna sighed and closed her eyes.

"Will he let you take him on a ride?" Bobby asked carefully, avoiding Jodie's eyes. "If he stays here after you die, it will be a problem for other people."

"Oh." Hanna touched the cat's ears. "You want to put him back in the box."

"Yes. I think he'll come with you," Jodie said. "That was part of your wish."

Hanna was quiet. She looked around at the seething floor with a small smile. "There's plenty in the bank for them now, Jodie. You'll take care of Snuff for me?"

"Yes. I'll take care of Snuff." Jodie's voice was steady.

"Then we better go quickly." Hanna wrapped one arm around Ashurbanipal. The other hung limply at her side.

They carried her to the car between them, and put her in the front seat. Bobby rode in the back. He caught Jodie looking at him in the rear view, and shrugged.

"Not my first time back here," he said. "The perspective seems different, though."

The awnings were gone from the shop. The windows were covered with soap. As they helped Hanna through the door, a scent of dust and rotting paper filled the air. One trunk remained, open, against the back wall. They eased the old lady to the floor.

"Just put him down in the trunk, Hanna," Jodie said. "Then we'll get you to the hospital."

"I said I would never put him in a cage." Hanna buried her face in the cat's fur. "I never thought the last thing I'd do would be to break my word."

"Dear lady." Dr. Lao's voice came from behind them. He stepped from deep shadow and bowed. "You will not be caging him. There is a good reason we call it a box of delights. When open, there is no doubt about the contents. When closed, this box contains endless possibility, infinite freedom, eternal discovery. Your Ashurbanipal will be free."

"Then I will hold him, and you will place me in the box with him." Hanna's voice sounded suddenly young and fearless. "What a remarkable opportunity. Thank you."

"I can't do that." Jodie rocked back on her heels, horrified. "I'm not putting you in a trunk to die."

Bobby stepped to her and took her in his arms. "Listen to me. It's because of what they are, Tia and Lao. I believe what he says. This is a gift, Jodie."

"If we close her in the box, she'll be dead." Jodie's voice rose to a near wail.

"If we close her in the box, she'll be alive forever." Bobby took her chin between thumb and forefinger and kissed her gently. As he said the words, conviction grew in his own soul. "Endless possibilities, Jodie. The Orpheum restored to her former glory. A family healed. Hanna and her big old boy, free forever."

"I don't understand. I just don't understand." Some measure of control returned to her voice.

"Do you trust me enough to wait until later for a discussion of the Tao of Maxwell and Lao?" Bobby let her go. "I'm not sure I'd make sense on the fly, like this. I'm mostly trusting my instinct here."

"Trust him. Trust them. Close the trunk, Jodie." Hanna shut her eyes. "Tell Snuff I love him."

Between them they scooted Hanna into the trunk. She was very small, and the trunk was spacious. Ashurbanipal sat on her lap, calmly purring.

It took both of them to close the trunk. The damn thing really was made of silver, or maybe lead. Jodie cried without sound, her entire body shaking with grief. Bobby held her, stroked her hair, whispered her name over and over against her forehead. He knew she was crying for more than Hanna's loss. When she finally calmed enough to look around, the box was gone.

Even when an adventure didn't end in the shitter, there was still crap to clean up, Bobby thought. Thank god for Rufus. The elderly female corpse, (dead of natural causes, Rufus assured them), was identifed as Hanna Brown. There was a swift cremation, and lawyers moved efficiently to meet the conditions in the will.

"Two sisters," Jodie told him over late Sunday breakfast. "They're living in the house and drawing a small salary to take care of the cats. They love it."

"And Snuff?" Bobby had been afraid he'd end up with a new mouser in the yard.

"He seems very fond of them." Jodie grinned at him. "This whole time, and not a single pussy joke."

"It's the rehabilitation." She was beautiful in the morning, Bobby thought, with her hair all messy. He reached to push a strand out of her eyes. "And the others? I know the Orpheum's still in business, although the movies are all mainstream now."

"The Sandy's are good. Bill got a job." She captured his hand, brought it to her mouth. "Not all wishes turn out bad. The sandwich machine just disappeared, so the Lutherans are happy, too."

"And Hanna." Bobby stroked her lip with his thumb. "You know she's at peace?"

Jodie shut her eyes. "There's a big field, full of wild flowers and catnip. I can see her there, Bobby, in a wicker chair with Ashurbanipal at her feet. I think, eventually, there will be other cats to join them."

"You done with your coffee?"

Jodie opened her eyes. "Nearly. Why?"

Bobby pushed back from the table, came around and took her hands. "I've got something in the library I'd like to show you."


End file.
